“If you please, Miss Ester, she wants you.”

“Who?” asked Ester, with trembling lips and a sinking at her heart.

“Miss Abbie, ma’am; she asked for you, and said would you come to her as soon as you could.”

But it was hours after that before Ester brought herself to feel that she could go to her.  Nothing had ever seemed so hard to her to do.  How to look, how to act, what to say, and above all, what not to say to this poor, widowed bride.  These questions were by no means answered, when she suddenly, in desperate haste, decided that if it must be done, the sooner it was over the better, and she made all speed to prepare herself for the visit; and yet there was enough of Ester’s personal self left, even on that morning, to send a little quiver of complacency through her veins, as she bathed her tear-stained face, and smoothed her disordered hair.  Abbie had sent for her.  Abbie wanted her; she had sent twice.  Evidently she had turned to her for help.  Miserably unable as she felt herself to give it, still it was a comfort to feel that she was the one selected from the household for companionship.  Ester knew that Mrs. Ried had been with her daughter for a few moments, and that Ralph had rushed in and out again, too overcome to stay, but Ester had asked no questions, and received no information concerning her.  She pictured her lying on the bed, with disordered hair and swollen eyes, given over to the abandonment of grief, or else the image of stony despair; and it was with a very trembling hand that at last she softly turned the knob and let herself into the morning room, which she and Abbie had enjoyed together; and just as she pushed open the door, a neighboring clock counted out twelve strokes, and it was at twelve o’clock that Abbie was to become a wife!  Midway in the room Ester paused, and, as her eyes rested on Abbie, a look of bewildering astonishment gathered on her face.  In the little easy chair by the open window, one hand keeping the place in the partly closed book, sat the young creature, whose life had so suddenly darkened around her.  The morning robe of soft pure white was perfect in its neatness and simplicity, the brown curls clustered around her brow with their wonted grace and beauty, and while under her eyes indeed there were heavy rings of black, yet the eyes themselves were large and full and tender.  As she held out the disengaged hand, there came the soft and gentle likeness of a smile over her face; and Ester, bewildered, amazed, frightened, stood almost as transfixed as if she had been one of those who saw the angel sitting at the door of the empty tomb.  Stood a moment, then a sudden revulsion of feeling overcoming her, hurried forward, and dropping on her knees, bowed her head over the white hand and the half-open Bible, and burst into a passion of tears.

“Dear Ester!” This said Abbie in the softest, most soothing of tones.  The mourner turned comforter!